26
by HoshisamaValmor
Summary: Memories, nostalgy and promises on December 26th 2009. One last fic for Mello and Matt.


**Author's Note:** This is so far the fic that took me longest to write. Months went by, missing the right day time and again until it boiled down to the last time.

Today marks 7 years since I last wrote about Mello, so it had to be today.

Planned and written mostly to Aephanemer and Evanescence albums _._ Near and Halle are mentioned throughout but don't appear.

 **Disclaimer:** I still don't own Death Note or Mello, no.

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December 26th, 2009

 _"You ever noticed you're erasing your existence from the world_?"

Matt's words from 13 days before returned uninvited, as did the sly and smug smiling blond teenager on the photograph right before the paper curled and cracked under the flame. He could see the image of his younger self engarved in his memory as the fire melted and destroyed his features and reduced the photo to brown and grey ash.

The strangeness of the equally unrequired melancholy was thankfully overlapped by the scoff that escaped his lips. Small little parallels, huh. Now both his young and current self had the same fire aftermath effect. The scoff turned into a joyless chuckle. Life sure was ironic when you started to think about it.

He _was_ erasing all proof that he ever happened to step on this earth. _"What good would I be remembered for anyway?"_ But the cool resignated tone he had shot at Matt before, diminishing the importance of the subject, wasn't exactly close to the truth. Currently alone in the apartment and under this apparently annoying wave of melancholy, Mello allowed the truth to daze at his mind if even for a moment.

\- And it was a mistake, as he should have known, as he always knew. These moments of self awareness only brought more frustration and rage rather than enlightment.

He wanted to be remembered. He wanted people to know what he did, what he accomplished - who he was. He wanted approval. Praise, compliments, appreciation, love. Otherwise, he only had his own self loathing and rage to fuel his actions and every glance he shot at himself in the mirror, every scream he shouted at himself in his mind for his unworthiness.

Any attempts to accomplish this childish wish were all getting taken away and destroyed.

What he had left was killing Kira, and it meant destroying everything else. It would be fair deal - it _was_ a fair deal. He was avenging L and overcoming Near once and for all. That was his goal.

It was his mind's fault for this tantrum. All of that stupid stuff was ringing damn loud in his mind after all those days.

13 days. Huh. Yeah, another irony. That one rule Near only knew was false because of him, the one rule that changed a whole innocence claim. Because _he found out,_ not Near. The runner-up kept making accomplishments in the investigation, and yet he wasn't worthy. He was the one sacrificing himself while that big head twit Near was just-

Fuck this.

Mello frowned and snapped open the wrapping of the remaining chocolate bar; Matt had left to replenish, and buy more important food they might need. Chewing angerly to get much needed cocoa flowing back into his system wasn't working so well in clogging his thoughts as it should. They were still going on about, and now focused on something even more stupid; the notes, the manuscript he had scribbled down to preserve the memory and actions of the greatest detective that lived. Someone eventually could find the notes and read them - he _expected_ and _hoped_ it would happen, after all, he addressed the possible reader.

 _...the best dresser that died like a dog, Mihael Keehl._

Mihael Keehl. The boy that for all effects and purposes died so many years ago. That part of himself had already vanished from the world, and Mello from Wammy's House was more a ghost already, a blurring shadow ocasionally brought to mind every ten years by some kid he bullied, or by Roger and old caretakers, as a concept of misbehaving more than a person in himself.

His current self existed for a handful of people, and one of those had his real name and held a scythe above his head.

At times like this he wished he'd actually develop a habit out of smoking. He certainly craved something more than chocolate now.

Kicking his feet up the table loudly, he bit the last of the chocolate and threw the plastic to the floor. Sooner rather than later, he lowered them again and got up in a rush, snatching one of the notebooks he had on a nearby desk and ripping a couple of sheets off. He didn't care to lower the notebook back in its place, just heaved back to his seat and shoved the sheets down at the table. He couldn't find a pen for an irritated moment, and when he did, he just stared at the paper, thinking and blocking.

He scrabbled down a phrase but scratched it immediately afterwards. The second followed, irritation rising already, and he tried to pause for a moment to ponder whatever the hell there was to ponder. Two scratched phrases were enough for him to see the pattern of failure that would form and gave up. He wasn't L. He didn't even know if he'd be successful seeing this case through to the end, let alone solve it. He didn't have a remarkable case to leave a journal on; he had gambits, near death experiences, mafia deals, killings, bribings, robberies, humiliations, tears and screams and fears and nightmares.

A story no one would care, or should, to begin with.

Mello looked down at the empty space beneath the scratches, lowering the pen carelessly. With a few drifts he wrote the lines, and stared down at his name.

Mihael Keehl.

Those letters would one day kill him.

Glaring at the paper as if it was the one at fault, he stood up and walked past to the kitchen in long steps, torching the piece of paper with one of Matt's discarted lighters and leaving it burning, cracking and reeking on the sink.

Matt had already returned home by the time Mello had shoved himself back to the couch. The red haired boy shivered all over, the cold making him hiss complaints and clearly releaved for being finally back.

"Is something burning?" he asked in alert, quickly peeking at the kitchen, where the stench would stay fresh for some long minutes. Mello heard him lower the bags to the floor. "What did you burn?"

"Nothing."

Matt quickly returned to the room, still shivering and making himself cosy by jumping to the couch next to Mello and promptly wrapping a blanket around himself. It was when he was about to turn on his laptop that he noticed the plastic wrapping scattered on the floor, the sprawled notebook and the rage irradiating from Mello, feet now kicked back over the table and rumpling the second white paper sheet.

"Wow. Your mood got fucking sour, and it only took me 20 minutes in and out." Mello didn't want to bother replying to him, so Matt pulled the goggles up his hair and eyed him. "What?"

"I started thinking too much."

"I don't see us that far off the case to-"

"I started thinking about what you said, when I burned my photo."

Matt blinked, quickly rewinding back to the moment.

"About Halle?"

He growled. "No, fuck you."

"How the hell do you want me to know? You could very well be acting that way because I said you like her. It's not like you were ever too good expressing stuff and understanding feelings other than anger."

That made him want to punch the other boy and leave him there shrugging, taking it as one of Mello's usual mood swings. Somehow, the idea showed its childishness even to him.

"I fucking hate this day. I hate December, I hate feeling useless and worthless and yet I hate having to disappear without proving myself. Yeah, don't worry, I'll soon be back to my planning self, this mood will be gone pretty fast," he added immediately, without so much as leaving room for Matt to consider anything of the sort.

The red haired boy sat there for a moment in silence, rubbing his nape and looking almost too silly wrapped around the heavy blanket.

"If I knew you'd get like that I wouldn't have said anything. But it has been quite a few days. I know you never liked birthdays much, or Christmas, but I wouldn't think you'd get all melancholic over that."

"Yesterday made 15 years my family died. I woke up in the hospital on the 26th."

The sound of the words made even himself blink. This as well? Was that what it was all about, what Matt's words brought to mind?

Matt fell silent again. For renewed reasons now, Mello didn't want to look at him. He was feeling pretty damn bad already.

"You want to talk about it then?"

That was pushing it. Mello shot him a glare, to which Matt simply shrugged.

"Hey, it's me. I'm not some Mafia goon prying for bargaining chips intel. If it'll make you feel better, you know I am a good listener."

Mello wanted to be more angry at him, but it was subsiding pretty fast. It wasn't like he was wrong, and if one thing he always did, was make him listen to reason. And Mello had told Halle, of all people, this same thing in a moment of distraction. Matt scored way higher on the trust factor against the CIA agent.

"Dysfunctional family. The car crashed against a truck. No one's particular fault, tired driver and arguing couple." Simple. What interest was there in it?

Matt waited, however, expecting or inviting him to continue. Mello felt the images flash to his mind, but pressed his lips together. It'd be worthless to talk about this, yet this very thing was what bugged him before, wasn't it?

"You had a brother, didn't you? Older?"

"No. He was younger than me, just one year old. He died in the crash. I used to take care of him when my mother fled or was in the hospital on suicide watch. Kept my father from beating him when he cried. Like I said, dysfunctional family."

"I used to think you were Russian, you know."

"My grandparents were, so you're not far off."

"You ever thought about going back to Ljubljana?"

"Fuck no. There's nothing there for me."

"They sure as hell did their best to erase all our pasts, right," Matt said under his breath, more a thought out loud than a complain. "The more I think about Wammy's, the more I get this feeling."

Mello shrugged. "I don't even know why I'm talking about this."

Why the melancholy now, after he fought against it so hard in the past years, occupying his mind with survival needs, stealing, killing, revenge and surpassing? Why bring the subject up at all now?

"I guess it annoys me to think I'm gonna die without anyone having a proof I existed, or knowing, whatever."

Matt shivered again, attracting Mello's gaze.

"Man, this Kira case is fucking exhausting when you start to really think about it."

Mello scoffed sofly at the choice of words, but said nothing.

"It makes everything seem bleak as hell, even more so than what you already use to. It's making you even worse. I know you've had your close shots, and you scared _me_ to death, but it's depressing. Let's think positive for a change here..."

"If I didn't think positive, I wouldn't have got where I did. It's about being realistic."

"When this is behind us, you'll have more chances to leave more marks."

Matt clearly said that to make his next point, but that phrase caught Mello off guard. If he did live this through, the aftermath wasn't clear at all. His life had been lived to become L, and avenge L after he was killed by Kira. That was what he wanted. He wouldn't work with Near after Kira was done - of course not. So Near would be the official L, and Mello... what?

Well, he knew what he realistically expected. He wrote about it, on the another notes.

"Who'd remember me anyway? If not you, who knows who I am enough to remember me?"

"Well, Near would. Halle as well." Mello snorted. "Are you fucking kidding me, Mello? You think people forget you?"

"People don't fucking know me."

"Oh, Near does. And either way, I don't think you should worry so much, you're worthy enough for people to remember you whether if they actually know you or not. It's just how we are; in the current state of things, it's good not that many people know us. The respect of those few should be enough, if you ask me. No one thinks you're worthless."

"You neved cared for that shit, did you?"

Matt shrugged.

"I don't really, not as much as you. I've got my online stuff, my profiles and my hacks. I have a damn fanbase, you know. If I'd be looking for immortality or being remembered, or just having respect like I said, I already have it, without Wammy's. I'm my own self, and the few people that do know that are enough for me. And I think you should be too - your own self. You shouldn't strive to be L. L might be the best detective and all that, might even have been the most amazing person on Earth for all I know, but you're not him and are not supposed to. I think even Near knows that."

That was the third time in under two minutes. "Will you stop bringing that fucking..."

"I'm just saying. I'm bringing him up because he comes from the same place as us, right? You can have him as examp- ok, let me reform. I'm not made to talk this much, damn it." Matt didn't seem too constrained, but he was being honest in his words, specially in the fact he was pushing himself out of his comfort zone. "What I mean is: I think you should feel pretty damn proud. Whether people remember you or not, _you_ should be proud and respect what you've accomplished."

Matt straighted on the couch to Mello's snort.

"No, for real, stop being so damn self destructive. You got the notebook in minimum time, you survived a man literally holding your life or death in his hands, as well as a damn explosion, not to mention getting to the top of a damn Mafia organization and becoming pretty much their leader. You're better than him - any of them. L, Near, Kira, whatever. You don't need everyone to know that - _you_ need to know that. Revenge fuels you, it's alright, but besides that you should see the stuff _you actually_ achieve, rather than being always worried you're not good enough compared to some other guys. Specially a kid that stays indoors working with toys the whole time."

The words read true in their meaning and intention. He could agree to everything, if it applied to someone else... perhaps even channeling to himself. It was a different matter to actually let them sink and change his mind.

After another moment of silence, Matt sighed and sank on the couch behind him.

"I'm hungry. Want something to eat?"

"Keehl."

"Hm?"

"I never told you my last name."

Matt blinked and snorted sillily.

"Took you quite a while to even tell me your first. I remember we had known each other for a while before you told me your name," he recalled, and Mello wanted to scoff at him but the memory turned it into a smile of his own. He remembered going through the thought time and again in his head back then; how to say it, if he should say it at all, what would be the appropriate time to do so, if it would be awkward and make him look stupid, what Matt's reaction would be, the reaction Mello _wanted_ Matt to have. All the kids knew they were supposed to keep their previous identities a secret, regardless if it made sense or not to them.

Many kids were glad to have new identities. Many more would hold on to something that was theirs alone. Mello hanged in between, but to share a secret that was supposely so important, to break the established rule of Wammy's House... well, rules were meant to be broken.

Ultimately through all that stressful thinking - as usual - Mello ended up just blurting out of the blue (kind of like now...), and precisely out of defiance against the rule more so than to try to bond more with Matt. The red haired boy hadn't even heard him the first time - a fact that greatly offended Mello, expecting a reaction he didn't get. The offence escaled to irritation when Matt's first comment was:

 _"Like the angel? Michael?"_

 _"Well fuck you," he spat back, punching him in the arm._

 _"Yeah, I can see your parents' wouldn't have got the idea from that one if they knew your temper."_

 _Mello pounted heavily, the sting of disappointment burning him painfully and making him embarrassed. Matt hadn't even lift his eyes from his stupid gameboy. Whatever expectation he had, it was completely shattered._

 _Some moments later, Matt paused the damn stupid console and lifted his head and hand at the same time, extended towards him. Mello squinted at him, suspicious and angry, and at the slightest, cautious raise of his own hand, Matt immediately and loudly clasped it and shook it._

 _"Mail. Nice to meet you, Mihael."_

The sound of that name - his name - had been something he didn't know he missed, until he heard it again after a near decade out of Yagami's mouth, and by so turned into a death sentence.

Ironic, wasn't it.

Matt's voice brought him back, confused, having not heard the words.

"What?" Mello blinked, turning to Matt.

"Mail Jeevas."

Both of them stared at each other, nodding in silence. It was equal parts awkward, important and irrelevant that their real names were finally shared. It was the ultimate proof of trust these days in any anti-Kira party, and at the same time it changed absolutely nothing between them.

Matt leaned over from the couch, hand raised mid air. Mello stared at it and breathed a chuckle that sounded more tired than it should have.

"After so many years, Mihael Keehl. Nice to make your acquaintance."

"Yeah, you too, Mail Jeevas. Your parents must have liked letters or something," Mello said, smiling despite himself. "Remember that's what I said?"

Matt nodded.

"It's an odd name."

"You called me angel, I thought it would insult you," Mello specified.

"They do write a damn lot, so it's not like it's without connection."

"My mother was very religious, so." Mello shrugged. "I told you my name because I wanted to break the rules. We didn't have Kira floating around then, and anyway I didn't see how saying a first name would track anything to me."

"What would be the wrong in that, though? We were kids. Like I said, Wammy's worked too hard to erase our identities and make us new. Maybe some of us didn't want that, or at least we should have been given the choice."

Mello didn't know much of Matt's past either, but didn't wonder. It was Matt's to share.

The other boy unwrapped himself from the blanket and stuffed a coat instead, mentioning something about food. Matt vanished to the kitchen and Mello heard him scrumble the bags and search for something on the shelves. He heard a bottle being opened and soon after Matt snapped and coughed, his usual reaction when he capsized a shot of vodka on his mouth, and then some clicking and clanking, casually interrupted by a couple more coughs.

Determined to dust off the subject and the stupid melancholy - Matt always helped him through these moments - he scrubbed his eyes and face, hissing at the uncomfortable twitching of the burned skin.

"You have online profiles?" he asked. "I know about the hacks, but what profiles?"

"Meh, I have profiles everywhere," Matt answered from the kitchen. "I'm also two separate hackers, and those have their online mithos and area of expertise and whatnot, but the profiles are just as helpful. Social media will fucking explode in the next years, I'm telling you. If before you needed an email or IP and go about their browser history, in no time people will fucking display their businesses and crimes all over."

For someone that hardly cared much for L, Matt sure followed after his multiple alias.

"I know enough of the internet, thanks." Fake accounts and registrations were as useful to a hacker as they were to shady companies, governments and the mafia. Mello was far from being the expert Matt was on the field, but he was quite capable. "So what kind of photos do you post? I almost imagine you leaving some easter eggs scattered around, like hints and pieces tying your profiles."

"Ah, well I do like what I do, and I have fun, so yeah, sometimes. But nothing that's me, Matt. That part of the brainwashing sank in and it's actually useful. Personal info is taboo and of course, no pictures. Photos are the most dangerous things in this world now, specially online, even if it's under a name and fake profile that has absolutely no connection to me. We're smarter than most people, yeah, but it's easy to start patterns. But Kira could see a photo of me and he wouldn't know who the fuck Mail Jeevas is, he has no idea I exist at all."

He peeked his head from the doorway.

"I have desert! Spiced it up with a sprinkle of vodka. My Christmas present, huh? Who's the best?"

Mello sighed but stood up, the chilly air making him shiver slightly. Something sweet was always the best solution.

Matt stopped him before he stepped into the kitchen, apparently in his turn of overthinking. He had the slightest tint of red on his cheeks, making him look younger with the goggles up his messy hair, and glinty eyes distant, focused somewhere else.

"You know what. When this is over, Kira is arrested or dead, let's take a photo."

He didn't even see it odd after all the previous conversation. Matt didn't last much against vodka. "What for?"

"Why not? We'll both be completely off Wammy's after all this. You'll beat Near, prove yourself to L - it'll be done. You can move on with your life. I'm done with them already anyway. There'll be no reason for us not to have a photo together. That's why people take photos, after all. For the good memories to remain real out of our mind."

Someone was awfully poetic. One melancholic and one poetic. What a fucking pair.

When was this bullshit Christmas thing over? Mello needed to go back the adrenaline of peril and to overlap this shit.

"We can even send one to Halle."

"And why would I send a photo to her of all people?"

"She's cool. She helped you, helped us. This Kira case is like the ultimate boss of any game, and every party member you gain on the way makes an attachment. If not anything else, then, call it an attachment. Having a photo just cements that, and memories."

Even if everything else would eventually be gone.

"To me this whole Kira case is more like a battle than an investigation, really, and I'm not the one killing people or being blown up in buildings," Matt was still going on about until Mello cut him.

"Ok, we'll take the damn photo one day. Let's go eat."

"Great! If we're really on the revolutionary mood though, rise against the system of oppression and everything, we'd go out and take one right now." Mello didn't even bother gathering strength for a glare. "In your face, Kira! Eh, well, maybe not so literal, but you get the idea."

"Have you been drinking while shopping too." Again, no strength gathered to make it a question.

"Ok, then go for your usual fatalist mood, imagine someone finding the photo after you died, all the melancholy, all the _'Oh Mello, the old dog! He was the best, man, one bad son of a bitch, but-'_ "

"Yeah, we'll take one after Kira's dead. Let's just fucking eat something."

"Ok, ok. Perfect. We'll take it on my birthday, alright? It's not that far away, just one month and some days. Even if Kira isn't gone by then, it'll be our spit in his eye, like 'fuck you Kira'. If I want a picture, I'll take a fucking picture and you'll never see it. It'll be my birthday so don't get all meh."

"Suicidal spit. Yeah. Whatever, you win."

"Great! Let's go eat that desert now."

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One month later, January 26th 2010, Mail Jeevas and Mihael Keehl were killed during the Kira case.

Two days later, January 28th 2010, triggered by their efforts and Mello's gambit, Kira was captured and killed. The notebooks were destroyed.

On February 1st 2010, the only person that recalled Matt's birthday was Near, without any photo or ever knowing one was meant to have been taken.

When December 13th arrived, the only person that recalled Mello was Near.

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 **the end**

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 _"Because we don't know when we will die, we get to think of life as an inexhaustible well. Yet everything happens only a certain number of times, and a very small number really. How many more times will you remember a certain afternoon of your childhood (...) How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? Perhaps 20. And yet it all seems limitless."_

-Paul Bowles/ quoted by Brandon Lee

 **Author's Note:** I have written a fic covering Near's aftermath thoughts - called **'Remembrance'** ; as well as one covering Halle's thoughts - called **'Five Years'**.

This was hard, as of course it had to be. I can but hope this was pleasant to read, but. To me, well. This is Mello, he had to be challenging and consuming and conquering. We all change, sometimes for the worst, but the memories remain.

So, thank you and goodbye.


End file.
